Chapter Text
Charles can't say he's surprised when they call his name. There's no feeling like his stomach is going to drop out of his body; his blood doesn't go cold and freeze in his veins. Instead, there's just the same numbness he'd felt ever since he woke up that morning, empty and robotic. It makes sense of course, that if someone from his family had to be reaped, it should be him: Lorenzo has a better-paying job at the factory, and Arthur is too young. So Charles is glad it's him, in a distant, clinical way.
Maybe he'd been expecting it, somehow. To follow in Jules' footsteps.
So he walks up to the stage in silence and stares at the relieved, blurry faces in front of him, orderly organized and segregated between boys and girls in neat halves. He manages to keep his gaze straight the whole time, somehow.
Later, on the train to the Capitol, Charles will watch back his own face on the broadcast as his name is drawn and read, see it go sickly pale and purple under the brash sunlight as Panem’s anthem plays over in the background. Dead already, even in life.
—
Four Peacemakers escort him into the Justice Building. It seems a bit excessive considering that Charles is not fighting back, but under different circumstances he could see himself trying to claw his way out. Maybe, if he didn't have any brothers, he might've tried - and hoped that one of their bullets might put a painless end to things.
Instead, they shove him in a conference room and leave him alone, waiting, until the doors break open to reveal his family. They're supposed to have an hour to say goodbye, but it sure doesn't feel like it.
His mother holds him the entire time. Arthur cries, and Lorenzo doesn't.
"I love you. I love you, please remember that, Charles. I love you", she whispers into his ear, words broken and voice strained by her pain.
"I love you too, mom".
As they close the doors behind his weeping mother, held closely by her two surviving children, Charles realizes that they're not expecting him to come back. None of them are.
That leads him to an inevitable conclusion, one he draws as he sits down on the train, moving away from the only home Charles has ever known, and closer to the Capitol. Unknown territory, danger.
If he's already dead, then he's got nothing to lose, does he?
—
"Hi. I'm Lucille, but you can call me Lucy". Charles had barely registered her being chosen as this year's female tribute, even though girls always go first. He'd been too down under, completely isolated within his own head until it was his turn to step up.
Charles smiles and shakes her hand when she offers it. It feels tiny in his. "I'm Charles".
"Oh I know, I've seen you around school. You're friends with Pierre, right?".
Lucille Ward is a wispy thing of a girl with sandy blonde hair tied back in a neat braid and light brown eyes, a smattering of freckles over the bridge of her nose. Sixteen years old to Charles’ seventeen. She's pretty, in an unassuming sort of way. She could do well with sponsors, if her stylist does their job right.
Seb sees that potential too. There aren't a whole lot of Victors from District 8 still alive, and Seb is the only one that actively volunteers to be a Mentor these days. Charles has seen him before, once or twice in the market, ignoring the whispers that always crop up around him.
"If you want any chance of winning, you need a strategy", he says once he sits them down to talk business. He's got a funny way of talking - serious, but not unkind. Mostly, he just sounds tired. "I need to know what you're good at".
He looks at Lucy first, and she seems to shrink a little under Seb's gaze. "My mother is a herbalist. I know some about cleaning wounds and healing".
Seb's stare feels assessing. "Edible plants? Foraging?".
"A little, yeah". Seb nods. Charles knows what he's thinking: her arms are thin like tree branches, but poison doesn't require any physical violence. It's something to work with. Lucy is a rival.
"What about you, Charles? Do you work at the textiles?".
Charles nods. "Yeah. I can use a knife".
—
Lucy struggles to eat, the first night in the train. She picks around her food, her fork pushing sausage rolls, and cheese tarts and bread pudding, the kind of foods Charles has never even seen, let alone tried before.
It all tastes like ash in Charles' mouth. He eats until his stomach is full, and then some more.
—
Eventually they spit them out into the Remake Center, where the prep team strips Charles naked without much ceremony. He should mind, probably, should feel vulnerable and uncomfortable under their scrutiny, but it turns out that at least two of the assistants are blue and the third one looks more cat than human. They feel so far removed from anything Charles has ever seen in person that he ends up staring at them more than the opposite.
His skin has been rubbed almost raw by the time they're done with him. They let him keep his body hair, sparse as it is, but shave his incipient beard, trim his eyebrows and fix his nails until they're round and smooth and polished with something clear that he can't chip away no matter how much he tries.
"So much potential. Oh, such pretty eyes", his stylist murmurs as she watches the prep team work. She looks worryingly excited. Her name is Stella, she says when she introduces herself with a kiss to Charles' cheek and a high-pitched accent.
Later the next day she's the one that preps him for the opening ceremony. "So, the costumes for District 8 have been a bit… Unfortunate, let's say, in previous years". Charles agrees, thinking back to prior Games. Other districts can stick to a clear theme - jewelry for District 1, fishing for District 4, agriculture for District 11, for instance. Something with a clear image to draw inspiration from.
But District 8? They're known for textile production. Hell, Charles has been working at the factory making Peacekeeper uniforms ever since he was old enough to hold a pair of scissors. It's not so clear-cut when you want to make a costume based on the actual costume-making process.
A couple of years back the tributes had worn a weird mess of multicolored fabrics, each different pattern fighting for its life to shine above the rest. The result had been as eye-catching and memorable as it had been horrendous.
The District 8 tributes didn't receive any help from sponsors that year.
So, admittedly, Charles is a bit worried about his chances. But Stella smiles when she catches his expression. "However, this year we thought to take on a different direction", she says, walking over to a set of closed wooden doors and laying her delicate fingers on the handle. "What could represent fabric-making better than fashion itself? Elegance, gracefulness?".
The result is stunning. Charles runs his own fingers over the stitching of the left cuff of the shirt, hidden under a blazer. The fabric underneath is smoother than anything he's ever touched in his years at the factory.
It turns out it's just a simple suit, tasteful in a deep dark red with a black shirt. It sparkles under the light, beautiful but sophisticated.
Stella pairs it up with simple makeup. Charles has never put it on before, but the things Stella produces look similar to the old tattered tubes and boxes his mom keeps in her bedroom drawer. Stella explains as she works: cream to cover his blemishes, black over his eyeline and his lashes to make his eyes bigger. A bit of pink over the cheekbones, something glossy and sticky on his lips.
"There. You look absolutely gorgeous, my dear", and Stella smiles like she means it. "Take my advice: use those eyes to your advantage. When they're looking at you, tilt your gaze a bit, yeah? Like this. Make them see you through your lashes".
When they step out, Charles feels like prey. All of the tributes are there, arranged by district and surrounded by their teams, yes, but very much together, waiting for the parade to start and eyeing one another. Charles’ eyes flit over the colors and shapes of the costumes, some of them honestly a little ridiculous. District 4 is wearing fishnets again.
Before Charles has had time to look his fill, Stella waves him over and fixes his clothes one last time before both he and Lucy step on their carriage, her draped in a simple gown the same shade of sparkly red as Charles' own clothes. Her hair is up in a simple do, looking pretty and delicate. "Oh, and one last thing", Stella says, looking up at him even though her heels are longer than her fingers. "Don't forget to smile". Charles bares his teeth.
—
Later that night, Seb, Lucy and Charles sit around the dinner table and watch back the broadcast together.
"You need to know who you're going up against", Seb explains, even though he needn't. Charles already looked during the parade.
The pair from District 1 comes out in glittery gold, smiles confident and a little mean. The crowd loves their matching jewels and bright colors, the closest thing to Capitol citizens there is out there in the Districts.
"They're Careers, both of them. Him, specially", Seb says, pointing to the boy. "Stroll. I've met his father before. A Capitol wannabe with more money than he knows what to do with. I bet he'll get all the sponsor gifts he needs".
Lucy looks a bit pale as she stares up at the footage. She's still not eating much. "How can you send your own son to die like that?".
"You'd be surprised at how often it happens, Lucy. It's an honor, to them". Lucy's distasteful turn of her lips makes it clear what exactly she thinks of that.
She's got an older sister, Charles thinks, and both her parents are alive and well. A loving family, probably. How could she understand what goes through a volunteer's mind? And how could Charles, anyway?
District 2 is next. Last year they'd been dressed as literal gods, complete with glimmery capes and headpieces and everything even though their thing is supposed to be masonry. This year though, their approach has been a bit more literal.
Decked in skintight black shirts and baggy pants, both tributes look ready to step onto the arena. They have their hair carefully pulled back, and black makeup on their eyes - stronger for her but still very much there for him too. Charles knows they're not allowed weapons in the parade, but he can almost picture the machetes in their hands if he blinks fast enough.
They don't smile as their chariot occupies the lens of the cameras, and the Capitol holds its breath as they move past.
But there's something - something in the boy's eyes that doesn't look right to Charles, even through the lenses.
"Who is he?". Seb gives him a quick look, then turns his eyes back to the screen.
"Sainz. His father is an old victor. 37th Hunger Games, I think? Did most of his work in the arena with an ax". Charles keeps watching the way Sainz stands under the bright lights and the stares, shoulders wide and set straight. And yet, there's something there that catches Charles' eye.
Something that makes him feel like Sainz is uncomfortable in his own skin.
—
When it's their turn, Charles watches his own face like a stranger's. On the screen he's waving and smiling away at the cameras, a little coy even. The crowd roars when they zoom in on a closeup of his eyes, framed by the delicate makeup Stella put on him.
Seb nods in approval. "We can work with this", he murmurs to himself, before taking a sip of his bourbon.
—
They're given three days at the Training Center. Three whole miserable days to try to gather some kind of skill they can use at the Games, either to fight for their lives or to kill each other.
It's also the first time that all the tributes are put together in the same room and given freedom to roam. Well, obviously they're supervised, both by the guards standing at the door and by the people manning the different stations, but. You know.
"Don't show your hand", Seb warns them before they're taken to the training floor, holding his fingers up and putting them down one by one. "Don't interact with the Careers. Stay clear of the stations you're good at, pick up basic survival training, and watch your back. Watch them".
To Lucy, as the doors to the Center swoosh open to let them through, Charles whispers: "Stand straight. Don't let them see you're intimidated".
"I know", she hisses in return, but listens and pushes her shoulders back.
And Charles does try to follow Seb's advice, he really does. He and Lucy stay together throughout the first day, looking as unthreatening as possible and surely coming across as weak fragile birds of a feather.
They learn how to start a fire and how to build a simple spear, then they try the camouflage station - albeit with limited success. Afterwards, Lucy takes them to the medical station and shows Charles countless pictures of herbs and fruits, both medicinal and poisonous. Charles steers them away when he feels the eyes of the District 5 girl, trained on the way Lucy's fingers move as she explains in excruciating detail the way nightlock berries can still a child's heart within seconds.
It's on day two that Charles' eyes start to wander.
They haven't decided what their plan is for the Games, Lucy and him - if they'll try to go together, or against each other. It's something they'll have to discuss sooner than later, and they don't have a lot of time left.
But Charles knows he's going to have to kill her if he wants to go back home. So on the second day, he peels himself away from Lucy's side and takes a look around.
Bypassing the knife station, he ends up picking up a bow and quiver, and following the trainer's directions to try and aim his arms perpendicular to his body. After a little while and a bit of chastising, Charles is left alone in front of the dummies to practice.
Taking a deep breath, he pulls the string tight all the way to his cheek like he's been told, feeling his muscles strain with tension. He holds it for one, two, three breaths, fingers shaking a little, then releases the arrow. It lands low on the dummy's shoulder, which would be considered pretty good by the casual onlooker, as long as they didn't know that Charles had been aiming for the head.
"Your elbow is too high". When Charles lowers the bow and turns around, District 2 is right there, arms crossed and watching him. His dark hair is not pushed back this time, instead falling gently over his temples.
He shifts a little under the weight of Charles' stare. "Can I?".
Feeling stupid, Charles says yes. "Pull another arrow". Charles follows the instructions 2 gives, suddenly conscious of the way he's placing himself right behind Charles. When he pulls the arrow in place, 2's hand takes his right elbow and moves it downwards, so it's straight instead of pointing up. If only their training uniforms were long-sleeved - then Charles wouldn't have to feel the touch as much as he does. "Now breathe and release when your lungs are empty. Whenever you're ready".
Charles waits until 2 takes a step backwards, then breathes out through his mouth and releases the string. It doesn't quite make the head, but the arrow embeds itself into the dummy's neck, closer to its target than before. Under the rush of his ears Charles hears 2 make an approving sound behind him.
"That's better", he says, with all the confidence of someone who's trained their whole life for this. Charles doubts that he needs the time at the Training Center at all - he's probably mastered all the weapons it has to offer. It's fucking offensive, the fact that there are people who signed up willingly to be here. It makes something dark and mean twist at the base of Charles' belly.
And yet, when 2 offers his hand out, something tells Charles to take it. "I'm Carlos. District 2".
"Charles. From 8".
"I know, you made quite the impression in the parade. This year's costumes were better, no?", he says, smiling a bit, and Charles doesn't know if the comment is supposed to be mocking or not. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the boy from District 4 looking at them from the spear station, not even bothering to hide the fact that he is.
Lucy is too, a little further behind.
—
That night, when Charles comes to dinner, Seb sits him down and announces: "Lucy has requested to be trained separately". Charles nods. It was inevitable, and if Lucy hadn't asked for it Charles would've eventually. But it still stings a little.
After a second, Seb continues. "Are you planning to make an alliance with the Careers, Charles?".
A frown. "What?".
"Lucy said she saw you making nice with District 2", he says, eyes serious. "Look, I'm your Mentor. For both of you. I won't tell you about Lucy's strategy the same way I won't tell her about yours, but if you do want me to help you survive then I need to know what your intentions are".
"I wasn't trying to make nice with Carlos. He approached me", he tries to explain, even though as soon as the first name slips out of his lips he knows he's made a mistake. Seb’s eyes sharpen. "He was probably just sizing me up anyway". Charles has been trying to undersell himself a little to the rest of the tributes, at least to the Career ones. No need to be perceived as a threat and taken out right at the Cornucopia.
Seb holds his stare, considering. "If you want to make an alliance, there are other people you can try to approach", Seb says, pulling up headshots of the tributes on the nearest screen. "Piastri from 6 is a pretty fast runner. And Norris is good with a spear, but he looks pretty approachable". The last picture shows a skinny boy with dark curls: the tribute from District 4 that had been watching him and Carlos talk on the bow station.
"I'll think it over". Lifting his eyes from the screen, Seb lays a warm hand on his shoulder.
"You'd better, kid".
—
At the end of the third day, the Peacekeepers pile them in front of the gymnasium where the Gamemakers are. Charles sits next to Lucy and waits, watching as one by one the tributes are called to make their little skill showcase. They go by numerical order, first the boys and then the girls.
Stroll fistbumps a few of the other Careers before taking his turn as the first tribute in. Charles can't help but notice that Carlos is not one of them. And then it’s a matter of playing the waiting game, watching the tributes trickle out one by one and breathing through the anxiety. He can’t let it show.
Eventually, it's his turn. "Charles Leclerc". The waiting area is already half-empty by the time they call his name. He waves goodbye to Lucy, who reciprocates with a tight-lipped smile.
When Charles walks in, there's no trace of whatever the girl from District 7 did before him. Inside he finds a wide circular area surrounded by all the things that could be found in the Training Center: weapons, shields, ropes… Even the buckets of paint they used in the camouflage station. Above him, in a raised stage, are the Gamemakers. Actually, doing a double take, Charles realizes that they seem to be… Having dinner.
A couple of them are looking down at Charles, but the rest are eating and talking amongst themselves. Laughing. Ignoring the tributes as they dance like puppets hanging from strings that the Capitol tied.
Swallowing back his anger, Charles clears his throat. "I'm Charles Leclerc. From District 8". There's no acknowledgement. He repeats the words, louder this time. "I'm Charles Leclerc. District 8".
Nothing. If anything, they seem to pay him even less attention as soon as an avox shows up with a roasted pig on a silver platter. It's got a bright red apple shoved in its mouth; if Charles was better with the bow, he might've tried to shoot it down.
As it is, he walks over to the dummies and grabs one, dragging it to the center of his little stage.
Keep your head down. Impress them, but not too much. Think of the sponsors.
Seb's words rattle around in his head, and Charles knows he should listen. Unfortunately, his blood has always been quick to boil.
When one of the Peacemakers drops a plate of pork to the ground and they all laugh about it, Charles, who's worked himself to the ground most of his life to feed Arthur, decides he's had enough.
He opens one of the buckets of paint and shoves two fingers inside, dripping red all over the floor. Then, he moves them over the dummy. When he's done, the words CAPITOL are scribbled messily over the straw head.
Charles grabs four knives, as many as he can fit comfortably in his hands, then tilts the stand that holds the rest of them. It rattles loud enough against the floor to startle the Gamemakers into a stunned silence, all of them turning towards Charles with their intricate mustaches and weird hairdos.
"Glad to finally have your attention, gentlemen", he says. Then, he throws the knives.
It's the one thing he knows how to do, the one thing Jules conceded to teach him during lunch breaks spent behind the factory, aiming at trees. Even though these knives are bigger and better than the ones Charles had access to back home, the shape and weight of them still feel familiar in his hands after years of using them to cut fabric and fix stitches.
The first one lands on the neck of the dummy. Charles straightens his shoulder, then throws the second, the third and the fourth. They all land squarely on the head.
Satisfied, Charles turns to stare up at the Gamemakers. If he's going to die slaughtered like the pig they're eating, at least he'll go out with one last fuck you.
He bows. Then walks out.
—
"You did what".
Later, sitting down in front of a pale Seb, the idea doesn't seem as bright anymore.
Lucy laughs until her cheeks are as red as the apple stuffed in that pig's mouth. "And then what?".
"And then I bowed and left".
"You bowed?".
"You're playing with fire, Charles", is what Seb says after Lucy has calmed down. It makes something heavy settle in his stomach. Not because he's afraid for himself - he'll either kill his way out of the arena, or die in it - but because suddenly he's scared that they might try to hurt his family back home.
"Do you think they'll retaliate, Seb?", he asks, and Seb's eyes soften a bit.
"No, they want you here, and a sudden accident back home will be hard to explain. But don't be surprised if your score suffers because of this".
And then it's time to find out.
Caesar sounds as upbeat as he always does as he welcomes Panem to the broadcast. He's chosen a deep violet for his hair this year, which is an improvement over the lime green he sported in the last Games.
The stupid trumpets grate on Charles' nerves as they play over each and every introduction, and Lucy's knee bounces up and down to the tune.
First goes District 1. They flash Stroll's smirking face, and then the side of the screen turns to reveal a bright number 10.
"I wonder how much he paid for that", Lucy murmurs under her breath. If Seb hears her, he doesn't correct her. His partner from District 1, a short girl with strong arms and a cruel smile, gets an 8.
Charles hums when he sees the score. "Not very high for a Career, is it?".
"She might be underplaying herself. Don't trust anything they say or do". Seb's assessment is probably right.
Carlos' image goes next. He's got strong features, Charles notices - big nose, big lips, hard eyebrows.
Around the edge of his glass, Seb says: "Damn, he looks so much like his father".
A 9 flashes next to him. "Pretty solid". Lucy gives Charles a look when she hears that.
The rest of the scores taper off soon enough, with the exception of the boy from District 4. Seb hums approvingly when Caesar announces another 8 for Lando. "Look out for him. He'll be a sneaky one, I think".
The scores, the names, the faces, they blend and blur in front of Charles' eyes, so much so that he asks for pen and paper to write the numbers down. He'll memorize them later.
And then they get to District 8, and Charles can feel his own heart racing.
They're going to tank him. He knows, he knows this, they'll make him an easy target for the Careers, have him die within the first five minutes so he doesn't even get a chance to fight. So when he sees his own face staring back at him from the screen, Charles closes his eyes and resigns himself to the inevitability.
Lucy's gasp is audible. "Charles".
When Charles opens his eyes, and right next to his own relaxed stance, he sees a bright bold 11 mocking him.
It's the highest score they give. No one gets a 12, and only Charles gets an 11, higher than all of the Careers. Lucy has to settle for a meager 6.
So, instead of failing him, the Capitol has decided to paint a bright red target on his back. Alright.
"Well, you're sure as hell not going to go unnoticed anymore, Charles", is what Seb says when he sits him down to prepare for his interview. "We need to find an angle for you".
In the end it's both Seb and Stella who decide to sell the, as Stella calls it, 'pretty boy' aspect. Seb gives it a spin, though.
"You know they're going to ask about Jules, right? And about your dad".
"Yes". It's the kind of thing the Capitol loves most after all: the morbid curiosity of it all. The sob stories and the inspiring ones, to be quickly forgotten as soon as the Games are over.
"And you're ready for that? You can't lose your shit, Charles. You need to take it on the chin".
"I know". Seb nods, then squeezes his shoulder.
"Good. Use it to your advantage. Make those fools pity you into sponsor gifts".
—
Stella keeps the same pattern with Charles' interview outfit, fitting him into another suit. This one is matte black, with shiny golden accents on the cuffs, pockets and collar, discreet but very much there. The shirt also has three buttons undone, revealing what is probably too much chest, but Stella looks at appreciatively.
She smothers something gold over his eyeline again, muttering to herself as she combs back his hair. "This will really make your eyes pop, my dear. Remember, look up at the cameras!".
As soon as he walks out backstage though, he immediately feels the pressure coming down on his shoulders. Conversations stop dead on their tracks when the rest of the tributes see Charles, and it's almost like there's a glowing 11 floating above his head. District 1 is looking at him with something clearly hostile in their expressions.
I don't have any allies here. These are not my friends.
It's better this way though. No use in making friends he's going to have to kill later anyway. Like this it might be a bit easier, maybe, when the time comes.
He's enough. Charles is enough, by himself. He has to be.
Suddenly, an arm flings itself over Charles' shoulder, making him stumble forwards.
"You've been holding out on us, mate", the voice attached to the arm says, and it's Lando, the boy from District 4. "What the hell did you do to the Gamemakers, huh?".
"Nothing special". They've put Lando in some kind of blue vest, leaving both his arms bare. The crook of his elbow is warm over the skin of the back of Charles' neck. "I just shot some arrows at a target dummy".
Lando laughs, a little. On edge. "Liar", he says.
—
Instead of soaking the unwanted attention, Charles lays against the wall and watches the interviews one by one. He makes a little game out of it, trying to see what gimmick each tribute is trying to sell.
Stroll plays the proud killing machine. He talks about growing up learning how to wield an ax before he could read, and about how he hopes to have half the tributes dead by the end of the first day. He says so with a smile too. Caesar feigns fear and compliments his confidence, always trying to make everybody look good in front of the camera.
Carlos is portrayed as the dutiful son. The crowd coos when he talks about his father with obvious awe in his voice, and says he hopes to return home to make his family proud. It's a standard Career speech, and yet Charles thinks it earnest.
Lando is all easy smiles and jokes, making the crowd laugh and bouncing off of Caesar like they've been friends for years instead of interviewer and sacrifice for less than a week. He's likable and he knows it.
The one that actually manages to surprise him is Lucy.
She sits down in front of Caesar in a pale pink puffy dress, her hair up again like a princess. She looks innocent and sweet, and she sure as hell sounds it when Caesar compliments her and asks her if she's nervous for the interview.
"A little, yeah", she says. It's probably the angle Charles would've suggested for her too: play the innocent little girl, then hide during the Games and wait for everybody to kill each other. Poison a few tributes if the opportunity strikes to speed things along.
And then Caesar runs his mouth. "A young girl like you, Lucy, I bet you've got a boy or two waiting for you back home, don't you?".
She smiles and actually manages to blush a little. "There is someone, yes", she starts and the crowd picks up in cheers and murmurs. "But I'm afraid things don't look very hopeful for me in that regard".
"Now don't say that, dear! If you make it home I'm sure any boy in District 8 will fall at your feet, right guys?". More cheering, but then Lucy's face falls a bit.
"I don't think that'll work, Caesar. You see, that District 8 boy… He's here with me".
—
"What the fuck was that?". Charles stops himself from pushing her, but it's a near thing. Lucy just stares straight at him, the same height as Charles with the heels she's wearing.
"You've got your strategy, I've got mine. Right?".
Charles sees red. She's just put a dent in the whole thing he was about to play out: now, if he rejects her love confession, the Capitol feels bad for her and then it turns out he's an asshole after all - his sweet, innocent, pretty boy image crumbles to ashes. But if he does accept it, then he's stuck with Lucy for the entirety of the Games. If he kills her during, then he betrays her, and public support tanks. How the fuck did Seb allow this?
Someone's calling for him. He knows, distantly, but he can't bring himself to pull away from Lucy -
"Charles". A hand lands softly on his shoulder, pulling him backwards. When Charles looks, it's Sainz. He was expecting a guard, but - him? What's he still doing here, if his interview was ages ago? "You need to go, Charles".
He stares at Sainz for a moment longer - his hair pushed back again, his eyes big and brown -, then pulls himself back together. "Yeah. Yeah, thanks". Then he turns around and fabricates a smile, ignoring Lucy. And walks out.
—
"Well, well, Charles, welcome! I feel like we've got so much to talk about!". Charles laughs a little, smiles and makes sure to look down a bit, like Stella said. Caesar introduces him and makes small talk, always so very pleasant and trying to make the tributes comfortable.
"Now Charles, I think I need to bring up the elephant in the room. Or one of them, I should say!", he laughs, but then his smile dims. He's so good at managing the crowd's moods, it's amazing. "You're not the first one in your family to be chosen for the Games, are you?".
Charles matches the atmosphere, keeps the words sad pretty boy in his mind.
You need to be marketable.
"Well, no, unfortunately. There was Jules, when I was younger".
Caesar nods, all attentive empathy. "And who was he to you, my dear?".
"He was my godfather, Caesar. You know, he tried to keep an eye on me, ever since my dad passed".
The crowd aaws, sadly. "My poor boy, you've lived through such tragedy", Caesar says, then turns to the public. "Do you remember dear Jules?". The response is mild and uncertain.
Charles was ready to talk about it. He was, really. But he's not prepared at all when Caesar offers to refresh the crowd's mind and asks to play a short few clips of Jules' time in the Games. It includes both his introduction and his smiles, his own interview, as well as his death, in vivid detail.
Charles blanks out. He stares up at the screen with the rest of them, and must react accordingly too, because Caesar looks a little apologetic, but not concerned. Afterwards Charles will remember none of it, only a whited-out space in the middle of the interview he knows he was there for.
He reconnects a while later, when the noise of the crowd clapping breaks him out of it. "So brave, the both of you. Oh, and speaking of bravery, I think we are all wondering… Did you have a chance to see your fellow tribute's interview?".
Charles panics, just a little bit. He pulls his face down, hoping it reads as embarrassed and not as scrambling for purchase. "I had a feeling you were going to go there sooner or later".
Caesar laughs. "Well, you can't blame us! How can we ignore sweet little Lucy's comment". He leans in closer to Charles, all fake conspiratorial. "Look, I won't press you for an answer, because I think we all realize that this has come out of nowhere for you", he says, winking towards the crowd, "but what did you think of Lucy's confession?".
"Well, Caesar". Charles leans in as well, lowering his voice even though the mics are picking up on everything just fine. "I must say I'm very flattered".
"But?...".
"But…", and here it goes. This either saves him from Lucy's unrequited love scheme, or sinks him to the bottom of the charts. "I'm very sorry, but I cannot reciprocate Lucy, as pretty and nice as she is. You see, it's just… Girls aren't really my thing".
—
She's still there, waiting, by the time Charles walks backstage. The sound of the crowd is deafening behind him.
She stares, arms crossed. "Is the gay thing even true?".
"Does it matter?". She holds his stare for a second, then turns her head.
"No, I guess it doesn't".
—
Seb is standing by his changing room, where Stella and her team wait. He kicks off the wall when he sees Charles approach.
"Nice save there. There aren't nearly as many prejudices about gay people in the Capitol, so I reckon your sponsorship chances shouldn't have hurt m-". Charles slams him back, spine straight to the wall again and making a dull satisfying thud.
"You knew about it? What Lucy was going to say?". Seb holds his stare, and it makes Charles want to slam him again.
"Yeah, I did".
"Then why the fuck didn't you warn me before the interview?".
"Honestly, Charles? I was hoping it might make you stick together for the Games, give you both a chance". Seb looks tired, older than the years Charles wagers he actually has on him. "I see my mistake now".
Charles' fingers curl around the fabric of Seb's jacket one last time, and then he backs off. He walks into his changing room without looking back.
—
That night, sleep eludes him. It's their last day before the Games, and Charles knows he should sleep in a proper bed while he still has one at his disposal. God knows how much rest he's going to be able to get once they get launched into the arena.
In a moment like this, Charles thinks about his family. He wonders which one will be worse for his mother: watching his son die, or watching him come back home a killer.
He tosses and turns until he gives up completely. Better to clear his head a little, if he can, and then try to catch some sleep later. So Charles gets up and takes the elevator up to the rooftop, hoping to get some fresh air.
Instead, he finds Carlos.
Like a shadow always in the corner of his eye, it seems like the universe keeps trying to throw them together over and over. He's huddled against the glass barrier, looking out to the city with his knees pressed to his chest. For a moment, Charles contemplates walking away in silence and leaving him be. But then, as if sensing Charles' eyes, Carlos turns and spots him.
"Hey, loverboy. Didn't hear you there".
Charles shrugs, suddenly awkward. "Practicing for tomorrow, I guess". A small sad smile crosses Carlos' face, before he turns back to look over the city lights. Charles has never seen so many artificial lights together, but maybe Carlos has. He doesn't know what District 2 is like.
Carlos doesn't look at him when he speaks. "Can't sleep?".
"Not a wink". It feels like a silent invitation of sorts, so Charles pads closer and sits in front of him, setting himself against the glass as well. He takes a moment to feel the surface of the barrier with his fingers, then looks up to see that it goes up for a long, long while. So much so that it stops Charles completely from feeling the breeze on his face. "Do you think we could break this?".
"I think you'd sooner break your hands, mate". Charles taps it with his knuckles, just for the joke.
"Worth a try, though". Carlos doesn't seem willing to offer up anything else, so Charles just looks at him.
He's good looking, in a less delicate way than himself. Strong too, and he probably keeps a clear head, judging by what little of him Charles has seen. He doesn't feel like the rest of the Careers Charles has met so far, like Stroll or his fellow District 1 tribute. There's none of that ruthlessness in the way Carlos is resting his temple against the glass.
"You're staring".
"And you're weird". That must catch Carlos' attention, because he finally turns to look at Charles. "You're not like the other Careers".
"You think I'll hesitate to kill you tomorrow?".
Maybe. I don't know.
"Maybe I'll kill you instead before you get the chance".
"Yeah, or maybe we'll both trip and fall from our pods and then explode before the Games start".
Charles smiles a little, but doesn't answer. Now it's his turn to look to the side, staring at the greasy fingerprints he's left on the barrier.
"You're not what I was expecting either". At Charles' silence, Carlos elaborates. "In your interview, earlier. When Caesar played all that footage of your friend dying in the Games, you didn't even flinch".
I don't even remember watching that. But Carlos doesn't need to know.
"Did you think I could afford not to look?". Carlos' eyes are heavy on his, brown and dark. He doesn't patronize Charles, and no judgment comes forth either.
"No, I guess not".
There's another lull in the conversation. It's a weird situation they find themselves in, one in which Charles has no active reason to dislike Carlos, beyond resenting him for having led a sheltered delusional life. They're on the same boat, actually: on their way to a near sure death. And yet, tomorrow they'll be enemies.
Tonight though, they aren't. And that brings a strange sense of companionship in the eye of the storm.
"Will you do me a favor, Charles?".
Charles considers him for a moment. "Depends".
Carlos' eyes always look a little fragile, Charles is discovering. "If you do get the opportunity to kill me, don't hesitate".
—
"When you hear the gong, ignore the Cornucopia. That's where all the Careers will go, you hear me? They'll be faster and stronger". Even after yesterday's… Disagreement, Seb still tries to give him a few last words of advice. "Run in the opposite direction and look for water. Put as much distance between you and them as you can".
"Oh, and Charles", he adds, right at the end. "Good luck".
It is Stella that boards the hovercraft with Charles, and the one that helps him dress in the Launch Room. He's given a two-piece ensemble, which is light and stretchy over Charles' skin on top, baggy on his legs. A thick belt and black boots to match.
"Nowhere too hot, I hope?". Stella gives him a small smile. She doesn't know either, but they'll find out soon enough.
"Here. Don't forget your token". She wraps the bracelet around Charles' right wrist with careful fingers, making sure it's secure but not too tight. It's his favorite, the one with the metal horse in the middle. Jules'.
"Thank you, Stella", he says, and he finds that he means it. "For all your help these days". Stella looks up at him for a second, then places her hands on his cheeks, almost like a mother would to a son. Suddenly, Charles realizes he has no idea how old Stella is. Anything could be hidden behind the layers of makeup and bizarre Capitol aesthetics.
"Good luck, Charles. I'll be rooting for you, yeah?". With that and a quick kiss to his cheek, Stella wipes her eyes delicately and walks off, leaving Charles alone in front of the elevator that'll take him into the arena. Somewhere around him, a robotic voice starts a countdown.
"All tributes ready. One minute to launch".
Charles takes a deep breath and steps in, watching as the door of the elevator closes with a whoosh. He tries to will his heart to slow down as it starts taking him up, up, up, but it's a futile effort.
And then the sun hits his face as the elevator spits him onto a circular platform. He blinks, blinded for a second, trying to find his bearings.
"The 62nd Hunger Games will begin in 30 seconds. 30, 29, 28…".
There's the Cornucopia, big and golden, a little further ahead. Around it, the rest of the tributes stand in a circle, all with matching outfits, all in different stages of disorientation. Charles catches that the area is littered with boxes and bags, more sparse as they get further from the Cornucopia, and that they are surrounded by trees. Some kind of forest then.
"15, 14, 13..."
There's a bow right in front of Charles. Red and black, practically taunting him.
"9, 8, 7…"
Lucy is standing five pods to his right. He can't see Carlos with the way the sun is blinding him.
"3, 2, 1".
Charles runs.